The Birds and the Bees
by callensensei
Summary: The Skipper and Gilligan finally have that all-important little talk.


**Thanks to Maudlin Mush for challenging me to write this and for giving me the great punchline, and to JWood21 for beta reading!**

**Disclaimer: If Sherwood Schwartz weren't still with us (God bless him!) he'd be turning over in his grave. These characters are his, not mine.**

The Birds and the Bees

"Gilligan, there you are!"

Gilligan turned at the sound of the Skipper's voice above the soft rush of the waves and the cries of the seagulls. "Oh, hi, Skipper!"

Slightly winded, the Skipper came lumbering out of the jungle down to the beach. "You gave me a scare, disappearing like that! I was afraid you might have made yourself your own surf board! What are you doing up so early, anyway? It's not even seven o'clock!"

"I thought I'd get an early start picking clams. If you wait too long the birds get 'em all." Gilligan held up a nearly-full pail. "Look! Mary Ann'll be able to make clam chowder for breakfast!"

The hour just after dawn was one of the best times for being on the beach for any reason, Gilligan had found. On this typical morning the air was pleasantly cool and the tall palms stretched and revelled in the breeze, their fronds streaming out like long tresses. Out on the teal-blue sea rippled the gentlest waves of all the island's coast, ridden now by bobbing gulls and gannets.

The Skipper raised his eyebrows, impressed at Gilligan's haul. "Nice work, little buddy. I can just smell that soup now! Come on. Let's head back to camp."

"Ah, but it's so nice here, Skipper. Why don't we just beach-comb for a little bit?" Gilligan pointed to a seaweed-covered branch that rocked in the breaking waves. "We can pick up lots of firewood as we go."

"Oh. Oh, well, Mary Ann'll need the wood anyway. Good idea." The Skipper bent and picked up the branch. The two sailors ambled along together, skirting the breakers that bubbled up over the damp sand.

Gilligan looked out to the edge of the sea where a low rack of white clouds lay like snowy islands. "Wonder how Duke's doing? He must be halfway to Hawaii by now."

"Well, he's had clear skies, at least. Yesterday when he pushed off he looked like he could ride that big wave 'round the world!"

"It's a good thing Duke didn't leave from this beach," Gilligan observed. "He sure wouldn't get far. I'll bet even Mrs. Howell could stay on a board out in those waters."

The Skipper shook his head indulgently. "I think Mrs. Howell's a bit old for that, little buddy."

"Yeah. Come to think of it, some of those surfer girls back in Honolulu were younger than me." Gilligan sighed. "Remember them, Skipper? The way they'd come shooting in on those big whitecaps? They were as good as the boys!"

"No, I don't remember. They weren't surfing around the marina, that's for sure. And anytime I took a day off, I was working on the boat!"

"There were loads of them at Waikiki." Gilligan sighed again while the Skipper picked up another piece of wood. "The surf there wasn't exactly Waimea but even so, you had to know what you were doing! I don't know how those surfer girls managed to keep their bikinis on when those big waves would—"

"Okay, I get the picture." The big sailor chuckled. "At least I know you weren't out there surfing with them! You couldn't stay on a board to save your life!"

Gilligan brushed off the good-natured jibe. "It's a good thing Duke can, anyway. Hope he makes it back to Hawaii."

"Sure he will. Why wouldn't he?"

"There's an awful lot of ocean between here and Hawaii, Skipper. Awful lot of ocean around it, too. What if he goes right on by and misses it? He'd be like that Amelia whatshername...he'd just disappear and nobody'd ever know what became of him!"

The Skipper sighed. "Gilligan, if the Professor says Duke'll make it, I believe it. Don't go fretting yourself over nothing. The Professor knows what he's talking about."

"I guess." Gilligan crouched down to scoop a nearly-buried clam out of the sand. When he stood up he gasped and grimaced in pain for a moment.

"What's the matter, little buddy?" asked the Skipper, instantly concerned.

"Oh, it's nothing, Skipper." Gilligan carefully tested his leg for a moment. "My knees are still a little stiff, that's all."

"They are?" The Skipper blinked in confusion. He couldn't remember having given his first mate any orders that would have made him strain his knees. "From what? Tying yourself on that surf board and trying to stay above water?"

"Nope. From Mary Ann, the other night."

"Mary Ann?"

"Yeah. You know, when we were trying to show Duke that Mary Ann didn't like him. Boy – was I tired the next morning!"

Now the Skipper's brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean? How come you were tired? And what's Mary Ann got to do with your knees?"

"She was sitting on my lap when she was kissing me. Boy, she's not as light as she looks, you know."

The Skipper stared at him. "She was sitting on your _lap_? Whose idea was that?"

"Mary Ann's. She has real good balance – says she got it from riding horses. She could hardly wait to get started."

The Skipper had long been aware that Mary Ann carried a bit of a torch for his little buddy, and despite her recent infatuation with Duke Williams, it seemed that torch was still smouldering. She was certainly a sweet little thing, but if she were even half as naive as Gilligan, that fire could quickly get out of control. "And...how long did you keep that up?"

"I dunno. We kind of lost track of time after awhile." Gilligan bent to pick up another clam. "Ow."

"But I sent Duke off to watch you two right after he'd come back from seeing the Professor and Ginger. He came back after only about five minutes. Why didn't you stop then?"

Gilligan shrugged. "We didn't know he'd gone back to you, Skipper. We didn't even know when he was watching us. He didn't exactly announce it, you know. I thought you'd come and tell us it was time to stop, but you never did."

"But I couldn't!" The Skipper could surely smell smoke now. "I had to distract Duke!"

"Why?"

"Well, when he came back, he was real sore at you! Kept muttering about, 'What's she see in that little man, anyway? I'm gonna pulverize him!'"

"He did?" asked Gilligan.

"Yeah!" The Skipper floundered on. "Well, naturally, I didn't want him to hurt you, but I didn't want to hurt him either, seeing as how he was supposed to be heading off to rescue us in the morning. So I just sort of laughed and said, 'That's women for you,' and lead him off to put him through some exercises. He did 50 push-ups, 50 sit-ups...and that whole time, Mary Ann was on your lap?"

"Well, we did stop after awhile, Skipper," said Gilligan simply.

The Skipper let out a great sigh of relief. "Oh. That's good."

"So we changed places and I sat on her lap for awhile."

"You w_hat?_"

Gilligan looked a little abashed at the Skipper's tone. "Well, not for long, Skipper. I knew I was too heavy for that. Mary Ann didn't seem to mind, though." He gave a little shrug. And then we switched back again 'til my knees got too sore."

"And then you got to bed, right?" The Skipper gulped. That was not quite what he had meant to say. "I mean – I wish I'd waited up for you, but I thought maybe you were helping the Professor get provisions for Duke."

"No, I didn't get to bed until after you did. Mary Ann said I should try to walk the kinks out of my knees, so we went down to the lagoon."

"The lagoon?"

"Yeah." Gilligan smiled fondly. "Boy, it was sure nice down there. Real quiet, and a big white moon up in the sky. Mary Ann said she knew a great massage for sore leg muscles – she learned it when she was riding horses. So we sat down in the sand and—"

"Oh, my gosh!" gasped the old sea dog. This was no bikini-clad fantasy safely out of reach. This was Mary Ann - the real thing - and the night, the sand, and the moon.

Gilligan looked up at him. "What's the matter, Skipper? Don't worry about my knees. Mary Ann said she'd massage 'em again tonight."

"Erp...no...wait a minute, little buddy!" The Skipper chewed his lip. "I wish we'd had that talk the day before yesterday! But I think we'd better have it now, before you get in over your head!"

"Talk? What talk, Skipper?"

The Skipper took a deep breath. "About the Birds and the Bees."

"Oh. Okay, Skipper. What do you want to know?"

"Well, it's just that—" The Skipper gaped. "What did you just say?"

"Well, I noticed you kinda have trouble with the birds and the bees, but I'd be glad to give you some pointers," said Gilligan with his most disarming smile. "After all, what are buddies for?"

Too astonished to be angry, the Skipper blurted, "_Pointers?_ Such as?"

"Well, remember how you sat on that tree that time, right on top of the hive? That's why you got stung, see. Bees don't like you covering up the hole where they come out. If you want honey, you have to find a place where it drips down, away from the bees."

The Skipper closed his eyes in relief. Of course. This was Gilligan. "Little buddy, that's not what I'm talking about."

"Oh. Was it the birds, then? Birds are real smart, you know. You can learn a lot from birds."

"I'm sure you can, but-"

Gilligan swept his arm out towards the sea. "See those birds out there? They build their nests on the side of cliffs, way up over the ocean. That's pretty smart, 'cause they know we can't ever get at their eggs. And they always know what the weather's gonna be like." Gilligan frowned, his gaze far off. "I wish I'd paid more attention to them that last morning in Honolulu. They were all sticking way too close to shore. They knew the storm was coming."

The Skipper blinked, realizing that he hadn't noticed that himself. But the weatherman had predicted clear skies that day...He shook his head, as though dispelling ghosts. "Well, to be honest with you, Gilligan, 'the birds and the bees' is just an expression. I'm not really talking about seagulls and things."

"Oh." Gilligan cocked his head, and the sea breeze blew a lock of dark hair across his eyes. "What do you mean, then, Skipper?"

"Well..." With those innocent blue eyes facing him, the Skipper suddenly felt as awkward as he had on his own first date. "Well, about Mary Ann, for example. I know she's a very pretty girl, and you like spending time with her and all."

"Not like I've had much chance to do that lately!" Gilligan's face contracted in a jealous scowl. "Boy, it was sure nice for a change not to have her hanging all over Duke! I'll be honest with you, Skipper. I'm real glad he's gone, and not just 'cause he's gonna rescue us!"

"Well, yes, ep..." The Skipper twiddled his fingers nervously. Perhaps Gilligan's attempt to master the surf board hadn't been _all _about getting them rescued. "But you want to be careful, little buddy. Not take things too fast. You and Mary Ann are still kinda young, and one thing could lead to another, and you could get yourself in a lot of trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" asked Gilligan.

"Er..." The Skipper took another deep breath and ploughed ahead at full speed. "The kind that shows up in nine months."

"Nine months?" Gilligan counted on his fingers. "That's November, isn't it? What's so special about November, Skipper? Is it somebody's birthday or something?"

"I sure hope not, little buddy."

"It's not mine. I've just had it. Yours is in May, and Mary Ann's is in August." Gilligan turned those guileless eyes on the Skipper again. "What's in going on in November, Skipper?"

" Oh – forget I said anything about months!" The Skipper sighed as he bent and picked up another piece of wood. "What I mean is...sometimes a young fellow feels like sowing his oats..."

"Oats? Why would I have any oats? I don't have any horses. Maybe you'd better ask Mary Ann about that. She knows all about—"

"Horses. Yes, I know, little buddy." The Skipper shook his head. Perhaps it was time to move on to human examples. "But what I mean is...well, you remember when we were in the Navy and we'd come into port, and there'd be all those women waiting at the dock?"

"You mean the wives and the girlfriends?"

"No, not them. The other ones."

"Oh. The ones with a lot of make-up, you mean."

"Exactly. The ones I told you to stay away from."

"In case I might catch something." Gilligan stopped to tie his perpetually untied shoelace. For the first time, the Skipper noticed that he tied them up backwards. No wonder they unravelled so quickly. "What did they have, Skipper? Measles? Chicken Pox?"

"No, Gilligan. Other things. But you see, the only way to catch those things is if—"

"Maybe that's why they used so much make-up."

"They didn't have the measles and the chicken pox, Gilligan."

"I had the mumps when I was little." Gilligan straightened, smiling at the memory. "It was great. I got to stay home from school for two whole weeks. Mom read stories to me the whole time. It was kinda hard to eat, though. My face swelled up like a pumpkin."

"Gilligan, those women didn't have the mumps either!"

Gilligan drew back. "So why are we talking about them? I thought we were talking about Mary Ann. She isn't like those women. She doesn't wear too much make-up."

"I don't mean that, Gilligan!"

"And she already had the mumps and the measles and the chicken pox! She told me. So there's no way I can catch anything off of her."

"I didn't mean you would!" The Skipper harrumphed and reached up to rub his forehead as he felt the pangs of a headache coming on. "Gilligan, will you pipe down? You're blowing me off my course!"

Gilligan raised a dubious eyebrow. "I think you need a better map."

They walked along silently for a few moments while the Skipper tried to fix his position again. At last he said, "All right, little buddy. I don't mean to say a word against Mary Ann - she's a real sweetheart, and I love her like a little sister. But you don't exactly have a lot of experience with girls, and you don't know what you're getting into!"

"Oh, thanks, Skipper. Thanks a lot!" The sudden sharp resentment in Gilligan's tone took the Skipper aback. "I may not have a little black book like yours, but I'm not so green! Ask Entwhistle and Wokowlski!"

"Entwhistle and Wokowlski?" The Skipper did not like the sound of this. "What have they got to do with it?"

"At least they tried to help me have some fun! Remember when you went away to the mainland for your nephew's graduation and I stayed in Hawaii?"

"Wh-yeah." This was getting more ominous by the minute.

Gilligan tossed his head in disdain. "After we saw you off at the airport the guys and me were sitting around Barnacle Bill's Bar and Entwhistle and Wokowlski said, 'Aw, the old Skip'd like to put you in a convent, kid! Come on! We'll show you a good time!' And they sure did!"

"What do you mean?"

"They took me to this really swell hotel on the outskirts of Honolulu. All done up Japanese style. I'd never been in a place so fancy!"

The Skipper frowned. "There's no Japanese hotels in Honolulu."

"Oh, yes there is! I even remember the name of it: The Palace of Heaven."

"The Palace of—" The Skipper goggled, aghast. "They took you _there?_ Gilligan, that's not a hotel!"

"Sure it is, Skipper," Gilligan insisted. "It must be. I mean, they've got beds there. My room had a great big futon – big enough for three people! The mirror was set up kind of funny, though. I mean, it was big too, but why would anybody put a mirror on the ceiling? Made it kind of hard to comb my hair."

The Skipper was speechless.

In the meantime, Gilligan sailed blithely on. "Entwhistle and Wokowlski were really nice about it. There was no way I could've afforded a place like that, but they said they'd foot the bill and everything. They even gave me my very own room all to myself! And they said, 'Be sure and call room service! Put it on our tab!'"

At last the Skipper found his voice. "And...did you?" he squeaked.

"Yeah. About 11:00 I called down and this really pretty girl showed up in a kimono and asked me what I'd like."

There were plenty of pieces of driftwood lying about, but the Skipper didn't see them. In fact, he almost dropped the ones in his arms. Staring straight ahead, he mumbled, "Why, those lousy sea slugs! How could they do that to an innocent kid like you? Wait 'til I get my hands on them!"

"Why? I had a great time, Skipper. The girl couldn't speak English too well, but after a few minutes she figured out just what I wanted. She said I could even have seconds and she wouldn't charge me!"

"It's all my fault!" the Skipper whispered. "I never should have left you!"

Lost in his pleasant memories, Gilligan barely heard him. "She was so nice. That was the best banana split I ever ate. It was so big there was plenty for both of us. And listen to this, Skipper: that hotel didn't even do banana splits, but she went all the way down the street to get one for me. Wasn't that swell of her? I gave her a five dollar tip."

At last the Skipper came up for air. "W-wait a minute. You called room service in the Palace of Heaven and asked for food?"

"Yeah. What else do you get with room service?" Gilligan looked at him oddly. "I didn't need my shoes shined. I always wear sneakers!"

"And you didn't...have anything else?"

"Just a soda. I thought about a hamburger too, but by then I was too full. Anyway," and the first mate's features curved into a smug smile, "that waitress in the kimono gave me a real big kiss. She said I was the nicest customer she'd ever had. So there!"

"Oh." The Skipper deflated like a punctured life raft. "Thank goodness!"

They walked along in silence again as the morning sun grew warmer and the seagulls wheeled and hovered over the teeming sea. Gilligan bent to pop one last clam into his now overflowing bucket and grimaced once more. "Gee, Skipper – maybe Mary Ann could give me another massage before lunch. This was a long way to walk!"

Before the Skipper could reply, a long, slender shadow passed over them. Shading their eyes, the two sailors looked up to see a large, long-legged bird with a blade-shaped beak soaring overhead. It skimmed down over the breakers, caught up a clam in its mouth, and flapped off.

Gilligan whistled. "Wow, did you see that, Skipper? I've never seen one of those birds on the island before. That's a stork, isn't it?"

"That's right." The Skipper rubbed his forehead under his captain's cap. Perhaps it was time to start over. "And that's what I wanted to talk to you about. What the stork brings!"

"Clams. And fish, sometimes." Gilligan's eyebrows were bent like dark wings. "Okay, Skipper, he's a bird. But what's this have to do with bees?"

"Gilligan, I mean that the stork brings babies!"

The young first mate stopped and stared at his older friend in deep concern. "Skipper, I think you've been out in the sun too long. Do you feel all right?"

"Of course I do!"

"But Skipper –" and Gilligan said it as gently as he could, "That's not where babies come from."

"Oh for Pete's sake, Gilligan! I know that! That's why I wanted to have this little talk with you!"

"Then what did you—" Gilligan blinked and looked at the Skipper in complete disbelief. "Skipper – have you been talking about sex all this time?"

"Wh-" The Skipper stood as if pole-axed. "Yes!"

"Oh, Skipper!" Gilligan rolled his eyes. "My dad and I had that talk a long time ago, before I went off and joined the Navy! Did you think he'd let me go without telling me?"

The Skipper was flummoxed. There were times when he forgot Gilligan had a father back home. "Wh—I—no, I guess he wouldn't have."

"Then all that stuff about Mary Ann was – _Skipper!_" Gilligan's blue eyes flashed with indignation, but amusement won out. "Shame on you!"

"Ep...ep...look, little buddy, I never meant that-" The Skipper realized he was going down with the ship. It was time to bail out. "Look, just forget it, okay? I don't know what got into me."

"Okay." Gilligan gave his old friend a sidelong glance as they turned and headed back down the beach. "But maybe when we get to camp, I better see whether Mary Ann has any extra laundry soap left."

"Why?"

"'Cause maybe we oughtta throw your imagination in the laundry tub! Give it a good wash!"

Laughing, Gilligan neatly twisted out of the way of the Skipper's cap as the breakers bubbled down the beach before them and the seagulls shrieked merrily overhead.


End file.
